


Everything

by glim



Series: royal au [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Porn, Romance, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It took Arthur years, but somehow he's learned that there is the world, and then there is everything else...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

Arthur's careful.

He has his driver drop him off a few blocks down from Merlin's flat, far enough that it's not completely obvious where he's headed, close enough that he doesn't have to walk far. He stops in at one of the shops on the way, glances at the newspapers before choosing one along with a packet of Polo mints. He could be anyone – somebody on the way to work, somebody on a quick break from working in another of the shops on the road, somebody stopping in on the way to visit their boyfriend – anyone. He smiles shyly when he has to count out his change to pay and turns his coat collar up against the wind as he leaves the newsagent's.

Arthur's also very lucky.

It's already mid-morning and there aren't many people in the shops or walking about outside. It's raining, grey and chilly, and the sky's dark enough to threaten more and heavier rain.

He's also smart and knows that the longer he lingers on the pavement, the more of a chance there is that somebody will eventually recognize him. Somebody will squint at him, wait until he turns aside to discern if he is who they think he is. So he brushes past the people he passes, doing his best to look as bland and as unnoticeable as possible. Only when he's in the stairwell to Merlin's building does he let out a long, quiet sigh of relief.

Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he climbs the two flights of stairs up to Merlin's tiny flat and lets himself in. Exhilaration replaces relief when Arthur realizes that here, he is safe, and here he is known in ways that are private and silent.

Merlin, as Arthur guessed he would be, is stretched out on the sofa, fully clothed and completely rumpled, probably still wearing yesterday's clothes and looking like he hasn't slept properly in weeks.

Which, really, isn't so far off. He smiles when he sees Arthur, rubs his face and blinks, but doesn't say anything until Arthur's pulled off his coat and shoes and is stretching himself out on top of Merlin.

"You're not supposed to be here yet," Merlin says, nuzzling against Arthur's ear.

"And you're not supposed to be awake." Arthur leans into the touch, sighs softly, and slips one hand up Merlin's worn jumper. "How did it go?"

"I was trying to take a nap. It's done."

"Done is good?"

"Done is better than good." Merlin stretches and yawns, his body a press of warmth beneath Arthur's, and rubs his face against Arthur. "You're really not supposed to be here."

"I needed to see you today. I brought you presents." He nods towards the floor where he's left the paper and mints and kisses Merlin's shoulder, then his neck, as he leans over to see what Arthur's brought him.

"Ah. Yes. I see the benefits to dating the Prince of Wales are immense. Are those Polo mints?" He starts to reach for the mints, and laughs when Arthur stops him. "What? You said they're for me. Don't I at least deserve mints for finishing the master's thesis of doom?"

Now, Arthur really doesn't have much of a clue as to what goes into getting a master's in plant sciences. He listens to Merlin ramble on about green things and environmentalism and organic food and clothing quite happily, but his own degree work was in art history and all he knows for sure is that Merlin's thesis had to be at least as much work as his own. He also knows that Merlin's spent more time in the library than in his own flat, and when he is home, he's spent more time reading on the sofa or writing at his desk than in his bed, even when he ought to have been trying to sleep for a few hours.

"Mints later. Lots of things later…"

"Like?" Merlin stretches again, this time to bring his body up closer to Arthur's, and nudges one leg between Arthur's. "Hm?"

"Breakfast."

"Oh god, no. The only thing you make properly is tea and I'll need more than that."

Arthur kisses Merlin's neck again and nuzzles his way back down to Merlin's shoulder. "… can do toast all right. Breakfast, shower, sleep. Opposite order, though."

Merlin makes a pleased sound, and it's a little hoarse, exhaustion edging around his voice, and urges Arthur to keep on kissing him through his jumper. "All that later. Now?"

"Everything else now," Arthur replies. He kisses the center of Merlin's chest, tender and affectionate, and rests his cheek there for a moment to listen to the steady pound of Merlin's heart.

Beneath him, Merlin stills. The odd, dry scent of the library clings to him just faintly, and almost as faint is the scent of soap, soft and herbal, that Arthur knows clings to Merlin's skin. But, mostly, he smells of Merlin, all warm skin and clothing that's been kept close to it for over a day.

It took Arthur years, but somehow he's learned that there is the world, and then there is everything else, and everything else, for him, at this moment, encompasses the quiet moments he spends with Merlin, the small, safe spaces they try to occupy on their own, the odd, tight, protective feeling Arthur gets in his chest when he realizes that soon the world will know about him and Merlin, and it will be fine, because they will have this. They will still be able to hold onto all the other things, to everything else they've fashioned for themselves.

Merlin's fingers card through his hair and Arthur looks up at Merlin with a smile. His eyes have gone a bit bright with an almost feverish sleeplessness and his mouth soft with expectation. He returns the smile, touches the side of Arthur's face, and draws him in close.

And then they are kissing, and Arthur's breath catches at the back of his throat when Merlin won't let him pull out of the kiss to breathe. His tongue slides in against Merlin's, and they press closer and closer, until Arthur lets out a shuddering breath through his nose and sinks himself deeper into the kiss. Merlin is eager and wanting, his fingers scrabbling against Arthur's sides, and he whimpers as Arthur finally does draw back to lick soft and slow over his lips.

"I love how you've decided that this –" Merlin pauses their kissing to stroke Arthur's side and glance around his flat " – that _this_ is everything else."

"It is. This. And this and this," Arthur murmurs over Merlin's mouth, catching the edge of his bottom lip against his own mouth and kissing again and again.

And keeps on kissing Merlin until he is breathless and flushed, and then Arthur lets Merlin press his own mouth over Arthur's face and neck to kiss him in odd, tender places. He nuzzles in against Arthur's cheek, brushes his lips over Arthur's eyelids, kisses the bridge of his nose and rubs his own nose down the length of Arthur's. So oddly tender, and he smiles before touching his lips to Arthur's.

Then Merlin is drawing him in once more, until Arthur is urging their bodies together, tangled and heated, and their kisses become tangled, too, all messy and wet, lips and tongues and stuttering breath.

Between arousal and fatigue, there really is a kind of feverishness all over Merlin. Arthur strokes the side of his face lightly, marveling for a moment at the flush of his skin and the wetness of his mouth, and leans in to kiss him delicately over his parted lips.

"Bed," Arthur says.

"Oh," Merlin replies, as if he's about to protest, and but the sound melts into a sigh as he slides his hands under Arthur's button-up shirt to stroke his skin through the tee shirt beneath. "Bed. I haven't seen it in days. And you haven't seen it in weeks."

"Bed," Arthur repeats. They're close and tangled for another few moments, kissing and touching, enjoying the press of warm skin and arousal through layers of clothing, before Arthur pulls himself and then Merlin off the sofa.

Later, he'll make the promised tea and toast, and he'll bring it to Merlin while he still dozes in bed, amidst the rumpled bed sheets and afternoon light. Later, he'll tell Merlin about the last spate of royal events he attended, the flurry of museum events and concerts and arts program affairs. Later, he'll listen to Merlin explain his thesis and the project of finishing it over these last few weeks. Later he will stop and think and wonder how quiet the afternoon in Merlin's flat is, and how Merlin, who's known him nearly all his life, wants to share all this with him.

Later.

Now, now Arthur lets Merlin undress him, touch his chest and his stomach and his hip, fingertips stroking skin that hasn't, as Merlin said, been seen by him in weeks. Arthur shudders at the fineness of Merlin's exploration.

"I haven't changed, you know."

"I know. Well." Merlin tips his head to side and spans his hands across Arthur's ribcage. "You look a bit thinner."

Arthur shakes his head, but looks down anyway. He is naked, hard, and Merlin's hands are still where they rest on his body. "That's your sleep deprivation talking."

"Maybe." Merlin slowly skims the palms of his hands down to Arthur's stomach and curves them around to rest at Arthur's hips. "I just like looking at your body."

Arthur shudders again. He's not perfect, he knows he's not, he's seen enough pictures of himself to know that well enough; he's not as fit as he could be, and he doesn't eat or sleep enough when he travels, and he's always gone a bit shy under such scrutiny. But Merlin strokes his hip and leans in to kiss the point of his shoulder, mutters something wordless against his skin that leaves Arthur with no wish to be at all perfect.

"Didn't we say something about bed?"

Merlin ducks his head, smiling, and doesn't take his hands off Arthur. He's still half dressed, stripped down to just his jeans and shorts, and his and Arthur's clothes are in a pile at his bare feet.

Arthur leans in to Merlin, close, then closer to slide his own arms around Merlin's waist. He's hard already, wanting to feel the slide of Merlin's skin all over his body, and that want is such a delicious, pulsing heat that he's willing to go slowly for a while here with Merlin. Just a while though, long enough for Merlin to trace another series of shuddering paths over his skin and finger the length of his cock.

He keeps his touch light, flittering, just rubbing lightly at the head and brushing fingertips over Arthur's stomach when he shudders again. It's frustratingly gentle, the way Merlin coaxes arousal for Arthur, the way he lets it swell slowly through Arthur and then subside, slightly, back to a constant pulse of blood and breath.

Arthur's cock twitches at the sight of Merlin edging his tongue along his bottom lip and at the scent of Merlin's sweat-warmed skin. For now, this is everything. This is the everything he's wanted for weeks, this closeness, this bedroom, this man.

When he gets Merlin onto the bed, he's still in his jeans and shorts, and Arthur kisses down the length of Merlin's chest without even trying to get them off yet. He buries his face in Merlin's chest to inhale the scent of his skin and to commit it all to memory again and again.

Merlin hasn't changed, either, not in any way that would be discernible or even important, but Arthur doesn't care. He doesn't even care that he just laughed at Merlin for doing the very same thing: learning and relearning, reminding himself of all the things he's been going without and missing so much. He kisses the ridge of Merlin's collarbone and presses his erection into Merlin's hip, rubbing up against the rough material of his jeans.

The material's damp when Arthur moves away and he touches his hand there, fingers it lightly like Merlin had his cock, and then moves away some more at the sound of hitching gasp from Merlin.

"You're so hard already." Arthur rests his palm over the rise of Merlin's erection against his jeans and rubs in a slow, smooth motion. "I haven't even touched you here, not properly, and you're so hard."

Merlin's breath hitches again and it's a sharp, desperate noise that comes from his chest. He won't let Arthur press atop now, not like he had when they were on the sofa, and instead writhes around beneath him, trying to rub up against Arthur's palm or to crush their mouths together. Their kisses aren't even kisses anymore, just tongues and lips sliding against each other, though Arthur keeps on catching Merlin's mouth against his own to feel Merlin's breath and hear Merlin sigh low and deep for him.

"Good," Merlin decides once Arthur's unbuttoned Merlin's jeans and hooked his fingers beneath the waist of both his jeans and shorts to tug them down off Merlin's body. "Now, be better." He fumbles in the drawer of the bedside table, body twisting as he does so, and drops a bottle of lube and box of condoms on the bed.

Arthur leaves them there for now, giving himself time to make his way down the front of Merlin's body again, nuzzling into the fine, dark hair that trails down from his stomach to his groin, and then nosing in deeper into the thatch of hair there.

"You smell good."

"You… oh god." Merlin just whimpers a little at the way Arthur teases him, running the tip of his nose up and down the length of his cock, then turning to kiss the crease of his thigh. "Arthur."

The arousal that Arthur had been able to keep to a slow, steady thrum suddenly swells when Merlin says his name, his voice lust-rough and deep and then he's hard, harder than Merlin is, his cock curling up towards his belly and oh, he's not going to last as long as he thought he could. "I was going to suck you off," he murmurs into Merlin's skin, "lick you and tease you, get my mouth all over you until you were so wet and slick and wanting."

"Arthur," Merlin says again, and it sounds like his throat's gone dry. His fingers grip Arthur's hair, tug him forward, until Arthur's mouth is just above his cock. "Just a little, please, just… God."

He does what Merlin asks – just a little. Arthur takes the head of Merlin's cock into his mouth, sucking gently and playing the tip of his tongue over the slit. Merlin's fingers tighten in his hair and Arthur takes him in a little deeper, sucks him a little more firmly, until he can feel Merlin start to thrust up into his mouth.

Enough that Merlin whimpers, quiet and needy, when Arthur tongues against him and pulls back, leaving Merlin slick and hard.

"And then I was going to finger you after you came, when you were all warm and relaxed, open you up for me and get you so slick inside. Because I love that. I love it when you've got my fingers inside you, and there's this warmth all over your body, and you've already come, so the only thing left to fill you up is me."

That was meant to tease Merlin, but Arthur's just about done himself in at the thought of Merlin getting fucked slow and hard with Arthur's fingers. His voice goes hoarse and uneven at the end there and his hands are shaking a little, that's how close he's getting, as he reaches for the lube.

He uses a lot, hoping more slicking up will make up for less stretching out, because, oh god, once he's got two fingers inside Merlin, Merlin's arching up off the bed and telling him to _hurry_ and that he _can't wait_ and could Arthur please, just _please?_

Arthur knows this, dizzy as he is with want: that Merlin will never have to beg him for anything. Maybe it's foolish and reckless, maybe it is, but there's a fullness inside Arthur that is all for Merlin, and he will hand it over in kisses and quiet hours and half-mumbled declarations of love right before they both fall asleep.

Merlin pushes back against Arthur's fingers, says, "Enough," and half-sits up to help Arthur roll the condom down onto himself. When Arthur rests a hand on Merlin's hip, Merlin shakes his head and lies down on his back again, hooks one leg over Arthur's shoulder, and urges him forward.

At first it's slow and unsteady going, and then Arthur thinks perhaps he thrusts inside Merlin too hard and too fast, but Merlin pushes back against him again, and the look on Merlin's face is pleased and desperate, beautiful in the strange way Arthur knows only he is allowed to see. He buries himself as deep as he can inside Merlin, and though his hands are still shaking and there is sweat snaking down the back of his neck, he reaches between them to bring Merlin off first.

Merlin directs him, rests a hand atop Arthur's to have him go faster, stroke more roughly, bring Merlin to the point where he his whole body becomes taut for a long moment before he shudders. He comes over his own hand, over Arthur's hand, and the skin between them is slick with sweat and come.

It's the uncoiling of tension in Merlin's body that does it for Arthur, the heavy, low sigh that he gives after he comes and the way his fingers stroke Arthur's skin, whatever he can reach, and keep stroking until Arthur comes for him.

 

"Sleep, shower, breakfast?" Merlin asks once Arthur's cleaned them both up and returned to the bed, his head settled on Merlin's chest. "What are you making me again?''

Arthur curls in closer. Merlin's petting his hair; it's raining outside; by the time they eat, it'll be past noon.

He could be anyone, here.

"Everything," he murmurs, half-asleep and certain.


End file.
